House at the End of Russia
by 67OtakuGirl24X3
Summary: The Vargas brothers have moved from their home in Milan, Italy to one by the border of Russia. Their new house is fabulous, Feliciano has no problem making friends, and Lovino even finds a bit of romance with a police officer. But the two brothers will soon find that the rumors about the house next door have truth to them, and Feli learns he should choose his friends wisely...
1. Chapter 1

**Although this fic is based off of the movie _House at the End of the Street, _it won't be following the exact plot****. For instance, Feliciano isn't supposed to ****_be _****Elissa, his role is just similar to hers. All of the Soviet siblings have been given the surname Braginski for the sake of the story.**

* * *

_Creak….. Creak….. Creak…. Crash._

The sea blue eyes of a young Ukrainian woman shot open suddenly. "What was that?" She whispered those words before she had even sat up. Resting a hand on her chest (which was slightly difficult, with her exceptionally large cleavage), she managed to calm her heartbeat with the reminder of the fact that her sister was most likely the source of the sound that awoke her. The younger girl often got up in the middle of the night, occasionally knocking something over… Clicking on a bedside lamp, Katyusha Braginski swung her legs over the edge of her bed, stepped into a pair of slippers, and slid out into the hall.

Katyusha ran her hand along the wall to help keep balance as she proceeded through the house. She paused for just a moment once she heard what sounded like gentle footsteps coming from down the hall. "Natalya?" she called quietly, briefly clearing her throat.

The footsteps increased rapidly until a girl of about 13 stood a mere couple feet away from Katyusha, a black ribbon tied loosely in her scraggly dirty-blonde hair. Seeing the pretty girl wouldn't normally be alarming… if not for the vacant, almost inhuman look in her eyes, and the knife clasped in her dainty hand.

"…Natalya?" Katyusha repeated, her heart skipping a beat.

A blood curdling scream rang out from Natalya's throat, and the knife she held found a way into Katyusha's chest.

_~4 years later~_

An Italian boy of 16 years sat cross-legged on the hood of his tomato-red car, caressing the strings of his acoustic guitar with his fingertips. A breeze ruffled his auburn hair, tickling the curl that protruded from the left side of his head and washing over his body. The light jacket he wore allowed the chill to be refreshing instead of uncomfortable. A song was absently beginning to form on his lips and from his instrument, leaving him totally content; if only the same could be said about his elder brother.

"What the hell is taking that bastard so long? He said he would be here an _hour _ago," snarled the older Italian- this one 19.

"It's okay, Lovi! I'm sure he just got held up," his brother insisted blithely.

Lovino Vargas finally halted pacing, only to spin around with poison burning in his glare. "If you open your mouth one more time, I swear I-"

He was cut off by the sound of car tires rolling over gravel. Up pulled a bluish car that looked like it was from the previous decade, and a man with glasses scrambled out. "I am _so _sorry, I got caught up in traffic and-"

"Cool story that I don't give a damn about," Lovino interrupted. "We had to drive all the way from Milan, and we just want to get in the fucking house before moss starts growing on our car tires."

Their real estate agent gulped, his glasses sliding farther down his nose as he decided that it would be best not to ask how their trip was like he originally intended to. He hurriedly ran one hand over his askew hair and dug the other into the pocket of his pants. "W-well, my name is Eduard von Bock… Welcome to the neighborhood, both of you. I'm sure you'll enjoy it here." Lovino just grunted in response; Feliciano hopped off the car and thanked Eduard cheerfully.

Eduard scurried past the two-car garage and up the stairs onto the front deck, producing a key from his pocket and unlocking the house as quickly as possible. When he motioned the brothers inside, Lovino shoved his way in while Feliciano practically skipped through the doorway. He drew in a soft gasp of wonder as he stared around his new home. "Ve… It's so _big,_" he breathed. Lovino, hiding his own awestruck stance, nodded in agreement.

"It's a beautiful property, isn't it?" Eduard attempted a casual smile, but with Lovino's boiling aura it came out looking forced.

Feliciano nodded twice, setting his guitar against the doorframe. Immediately, he headed off to wander around the house. Lovino rolled his eyes, grumbling something about Feliciano's luggage. Eduard held out a business card with a slightly shaking hand. "If you have any questions or concerns about the neighborhood or house, don't hesitate to call me," he remarked with much less assertiveness than he intended. A look of remembrance appeared on Eduard's face and he fumbled around his pocket for a pen before Lovino could grab the card. He scribbled another set of numbers onto the small rectangular paper.

"What's that for?" Lovino asked half-interestedly, allowing Eduard to press the card into his palm.

"The chief of police's cell phone number. His name's Antonio Fernandez Carriedo… He's kind of an airhead, but he's really dependable when it comes down to it."

"Why the hell would I need his number?" Lovino asked with one eyebrow raised skeptically. Eduard bit his lip, eyes darting around nervously behind his glasses.

"The Braginski house is right through the woods, Mr. Vargas," Eduard reminded him in a whisper.

A groan left Lovino's lips. "Oh god, not you too. I don't _give a shit _that somebody was killed in that house. It's abandoned now, isn't it?"

Silence.

"_Isn't it_?" Lovino urged, crossing his arms impatiently.

Eduard pushed his glasses up into place on the rim of his nose. "R-right. Well, have a good day, Mr. Vargas… Call if you need anything." With that, the real estate agent scurried out of the house like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Meanwhile, Feliciano's enthusiasm was growing bigger and bigger with every step he took. There were so many unnecessary rooms in the house… He could have friends over and let them sleep in their own rooms! The kitchen was bigger than their one back in Milan and looked recently refurbished- the perfect place to make pasta. Looking out all the huge windows, Feliciano found lots of easy-accessible points on the rooftop where he could sit and play his guitar. He also caught sight of the forest beside the driveway, which was rich with greenery… It looked like it could be from a fairytale.

But what was that in the distance? Between the trees?

"Lovi, I'm going exploring!" Feliciano called, trotting back out the front door.

"Whatever. Just don't get lost or hurt yourself, and come back to bring all your crap in the house," Lovino responded, dragging one of his own suitcases to the master bedroom he had claimed as his. He knew, though, that the latter of his three demands was much less probable than the first two.

Completely disregarding the saying "curiosity killed the cat," Feliciano scanned the edges of the forest for a path and started following it. The woods were alive with birdsongs and buzzing insects; Feliciano even caught sight of a squirrel or two (both of which ignored him when he called 'Come here Mr. Squirrely!'). Feli ended up getting distracted by searching for more little creatures like bunnies and forgot about why he originally decided to venture into the forest.

He remembered when he reached the other side.

"Ve… It looks like our new house!" he whispered excitedly, staring up at the structure before him. Maybe it did at one point; now, however, moss was growing in places where it shouldn't, chunks of the framework were missing or badly splintered, and the place was in desperate need of a paint job. In other words, it was completely rundown. Feliciano immediately noticed that the shades were drawn in every window. It helped fuel the lonely, almost ominous feeling the house's presence gave off.

Sudden movement caught in his peripheral vision caused Feliciano to jump nearly a foot in the air. The top left window. Something had moved in the top left window. The thought of something moving in the abandoned house made every hair on the back of Feli's neck stand up, and his curl almost straightened. Just when he started to think he'd just imagined it, he saw the blinds move again. This time, though, he noticed something else: a glimpse of a hand, pulling back the blinds. The house must have been dark inside, because Feliciano could clearly see a pair of purple eyes at the edge of the blinds…

The Italian boy turned around so quickly that he tripped and fell on his face. Ignoring the abrupt pain in his ankle, he scrambled to his feet and bolted back into the forest faster than he'd ever even dreamed of running back in gym class. The sounds of the forest were no longer friendly to his ears: they were threatening. Screaming echoed in his head; his _own _screaming. _Get home… GET HOME…_

Feliciano didn't slow down until he was practically flying through the front door, tears streaming down his face by the bucket load. "LOVI! I saw something, Lovi! There's someone next door!" he shrieked, clinging to his brother like he'd done countless times when he was little. A look of obvious disgust appeared on Lovino's face as he pried his brother's arms off of his waist.

"You're an idiot, _fratello. _Nobody lives there," he reminded him harshly.

"But I SAW someone!" Feliciano drew in a horrified gasp. "W-what if it was a _ghost?!_"

It took all of his self restraint to not slap Feli. "There's no such thing as ghosts. You imagined it, Feliciano. Now man up, _shut _up, and go get your shit so you can unpack," Lovino demanded. Feliciano whimpered, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and still shaking frantically as he slunk out to the car.

Little did he know that his brother's glare hid concern; fear, even. He knew his brother wasn't crazy (well, in this situation at least). He had seen the eyes too, while he was looking around for the bathroom. And he could still feel them staring at him.

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, that's the end of chapter 1! You get a cookie if you can identify who the purple eyes belong to.__  
_

_Fratello = the Italian word for "brother"_


	2. Chapter 2

The Vargas brothers didn't take very long to get settled in. They had only been living in the house for 3 days when their neighbor- a handsome French man- invited them to a party he was throwing. Feliciano accepted happily, even though Lovino insisted he would not, under any circumstances, be going.

Of course his younger brother ended up convincing him anyway.

"Everyone, these handsome young boys are Lovino and Feliciano. They just moved in down the street," the host (named Francis Bonnefoy) announced in a very heavy French accent, standing between the Vargas' and putting his arms around their shoulders. Feliciano beamed and waved at everybody; Lovino scowled and smacked Francis's arm away.

A blonde haired, green eyed man got to his feet, setting down his cup of iced tea. "My name is Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand, which Feliciano didn't hesitate to take and shake eagerly.

"Oh, it's super nice to meet you too!" Feliciano insisted. He could have sworn he heard Lovino gag, but decided not to think anything of it. Instead, he just giggled slightly at Arthur's British accent.

The Englishman sat back down, motioning at the empty seat beside him. Feliciano sat there immediately. Lovino, on the other hand, drifted off to the corner of the patio where nobody else stood. Well, that is, until one of the guests that had been swimming around the pool pulled himself out of the water and shook himself off like a dog. He grabbed a towel off of Francis's chair, wiped his hands on it, threw it over his shoulder, and trotted over to the lone Italian.

"Hola! You're Lovino?"

Lovino glanced up uninterestedly at the Spanish-accented man. He was very handsome- nobody could deny that. Tanned skin, messy brown hair, bright green eyes, a dazzling smile and a perfectly toned body… But there was no way in hell Lovino would admit that. What was he, some faggot? "Sì. What's it to you?"

The Spanish man giggled, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. "Just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. What brings you here?"

Under most circumstances, Lovino would flash his middle finger at the man and maybe push him into the pool, but something about this Spaniard compelled Lovino to answer anything he asked… Not because of his attractiveness. No way. "My bastard of a grandfather died. He gave left cash in my brother's name, so we decided to move far away. I picked here because the hospital had an open job position," he answered in an obviously annoyed tone.

"Hospital? Are you a doctor?" the Spaniard asked with a tilt to his head. Lovino nodded curtly, glaring at the ground. "Huh! You don't really strike me as the type of guy that likes helping people."

"I _don't. _But the job pays well, I'm good at it, and I don't want some other dumb bastard earning a paycheck I'm capable of getting."

"Ohh, I see… I'm the exact opposite, almost! I'm a cop, but not because of the money I get… I do it 'cause I get to keep people safe," explained the Spanish man, flashing a toothy grin.

For a moment, Lovino did not give a damn. But then a thought occurred to him. "A cop, you said? …What's your name." Not that he was curious or anything.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," he answered immediately. A gentle laugh left his lips. "You can just call me Toni."

So this was the guy Lovino was supposed to call in case of emergency…. Great. He was going to say something about being given his contact information, but the words he ended up speaking were: "Put a shirt on, bastard."

Antonio just chuckled. "_Lo siento. _I'll go swimming without my shirt off next time. By the way, can I call you Lovi?"

Pushing him in the pool was suddenly an appealing idea again.

While this was occurring, Feliciano was already involved in a friendly conversation. "So, Feliciano, how old are you?" inquired Arthur.

"I'm 16! I'll be starting eleventh grade on Monday," Feliciano indicated, lightly kicking his feet under the table.

A slight smile appeared on Arthur's face. "Brilliant. Same with Alfred…"

"And Matthew," Francis reminded him. Arthur raised an eyebrow, pausing in the middle of raising his glass of tea to his lips.

"Matthew…? Oh, right, Alfred's twin. Sorry. That boy's just so _quiet._"

Francis waggled his finger at Arthur. "Is Matthew so quiet, or is it just that Alfred is too loud?"

"Both," the blonde men agreed in unison.

Feliciano tilted his head curiously. "Alfred? Matthew? Who are they?"

"Boys from the neighborhood," Arthur answered after taking a sip of his beverage. "I know Alfred better, seeing as he's always turning up on my lawn… He's an obnoxious fellow, and I'd loveto duct tape his mouth shut, but I can't honestly say I dislike him. He's very friendly, captain of the football team, plays guitar, and even started this organization to help raise awareness of world hunger. The only thing is, he's a little… slow in the head," he explained.

"_Matthew _makes up for his brother's lack of intelligence. Have you seen his grades?" Francis bragged as if Matthew was his own son. "And don't forget, _mon ami, _that Matthew was the one who started that organization, Alfred just took it over."

"Yes, well, it's not like Mattie could have handled it anyway," Arthur muttered into his cup.

Francis's normally flamboyant demeanor darkened. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing," Arthur insisted, flapping his hand as if waving away his words. "I think it's sweet that you've made him your little lap dog… _Wanker._"

For a reason that Feliciano couldn't recognize, that tore it. The two men raised their voices and started firing insults at each other, straying away from the topic they originally were arguing over. Feliciano looked back and forth between them, desperately trying to think of how to make them stop- he hated it when people fought! Before his feeble "Please don't argue…!"s could be heard, someone called his name from behind. He turned to see a dirty-blonde teenager climbing out of the pool and waving him down. Throwing one last nervous glance at Francis and Arthur, Feliciano slipped over to him.

"Yo, newbie! Name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones," the boy exclaimed, holding out a soaked hand. Feliciano took it, his grin returning.

"Ciao, Alfred! I'm-"

"Feliciano Vargas, I know. _Everyone _knows. Word about someone movin' in next door to the _Braginski _house spreads real quick." Felicano's pleasant stance faltered as he remembered spotting movement in the house a few days ago (he hadn't looked in the direction of the house since). Before he could ask what the deal with it was, Alfred continued talking. "You wanna swim, bro?"

Feliciano pouted. "That would be really fun, but I didn't bring a bathing suit…"

Alfred shrugged. "You can just chill at the edge, like Mattie." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a boy who sat on the side of the pool, his jeans rolled up to his knees so he could dangle his feet in the water. He looked exactly like Alfred, but with the addition of glasses and longer, wavier hair. Feliciano pulled up his own pant legs, sitting next to the boy. He opened his mouth to greet him, only to be splashed by Alfred jumping into the pool after a running start.

"Oh, maple," Matthew cursed under his breath, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt to remove the water droplets. He groaned quietly as he ended up only smudging them.

"Here, let me do it!" Feliciano offered. He grabbed Matthew's glasses, enveloping them in his drier shirt, before handing them back. "Tada! Nice and clear."

Matthew hesitantly placed them back on his nose as if afraid Feliciano had done something dangerous to them. He blinked a few times, turning toward the Italian with a timid smile. "…Thanks…"

"Ve, no problem! That's what friends are for!"

"…Friends? I'm sorry, but I don't even know you…"

Feliciano tilted his head in confusion, kicking his feet in the water. "But your brother said EVERYONE here knows me!"

Matthew's violet-blue eyes widened behind his glasses. "O-oh… You're the boy that lives next to the Braginski house, aren't you…?"

The content smile almost permanent on Feliciano's face finally faded. "Why is that house so special?"

"Well, for starters, nobody wants it there. I've even heard Arthur talking about burning it down… And haven't you heard about what happened there…?"

"Sí, a girl killed her big sister… But lots of people get killed in houses! And that was a long time ago," he reasoned as much to himself as to Matthew.

"You haven't heard the _full _story, then," Matthew whispered. He glanced around as if scared someone might overhear. "Natalya Braginski died. We were all told she died, and accepted it. But there's no evidence to prove it… Nobody ever found her body. So the word around town is that… that she lives in the woods separating your houses."

Feliciano gasped, covering his mouth with both hands. "_Cosa_?! But… But she's a _murderer_!"

Matthew nodded slowly, staring down at his lap. "I know… That's not all though. Someone still lives-"

"LOVI!" Feliciano swung his legs out of the water, bolting across the concrete and getting poor Matthew wet again. "Lovi, Lovi, there's a murderer in the woods! The girl that killed her _sorella _lives in the woods by our house!" he explained frantically, tugging at his older brother's shirt. Lovino sighed under his breath, glad Antonio had stopped his babbling (which he eventually drowned out) yet not at all eager to deal with his brother.

"Have I ever told you how _stupid _you are? That's just a rumor. A legend. A myth. _Not true. _So do me a favor and shut your damn mouth," Lovino snapped, ignoring Antonio's comment about Feliciano calling him Lovi.

Feliciano sniffled, tears rapidly filling up his eyes. "But… But they said…!"

"Great. We're not even here a week, and already the neighbors are filling my brother's head with lies. An annoying American, his creepy twin, a Brit and a Frenchie clawing each other's eyes out… This neighborhood is effed up. Come on, Feli, we're _leaving._" With that, he grabbed his teary younger brother by the arm and yanked him back toward the driveway, neither of them having a chance to say good-bye to anyone.

"Matthew, I saw you talking to Feliciano… Did you happen to tell him about Ivan?" Francis, who was now giving Arthur the silent treatment instead of yelling at him, asked quietly.

"I tried to, but he didn't let me finish…" Matthew told him. Everyone (except for Alfred, who was playing Marco Polo with Arthur's little brother Peter) exchanged the same worrisome glance.

"…I suppose he'll just have to find out, then."

* * *

_**A/N**_

_****__Two chapters in one day... DAMN I'm good. _

_That's right bitches, there is SpaMano all up in this story. XD I thought Elissa's mom had a thing for Officer Weaver when I saw the movie, and Spain x Romano is my OTP, so BAM. Antonio is a cop. Ah, the images of Spain in a police uniform..._

_Lo siento = I'm sorry in Spanish_

_Mon ami = My friend in French_

_Cosa = What in Italian_

_Sorella = Sister in Italian_


	3. Chapter 3

How did Feliciano get himself into this situation? That was the million dollar question.

The first week of school had been going wonderfully for him. His teachers liked him, and even though he couldn't memorize his way around the school, a nice, pretty Hungarian senior had been assigned as his guide. He hadn't yet made friends he knew were permanent, though he was quickly liked (or at least known) by basically everyone in the school. The highlight of the week, though, didn't come until Friday.

Well, it seemed like a good thing at first.

"Hey, Feli! Wait up, bro!" Alfred shouted, trotting away from his group of friends. Feliciano, who had been shamelessly skipping out of the school, halted and turned around with his usual big smile.

"Ciao, Alfred!" The two of them would greet each other in the halls (Feliciano found it absolutely fascinating that he wore glasses just like Matthew) and sat at the same lunch table on Wednesday, but other than that, they hadn't interacted since the party.

"Arthur told you about my famine-relief program, right?" Alfred confirmed, stepping in time with Feliciano right at his side. Feliciano nodded, starting to hum a tune that was stuck in his head. "Cool. So, we're having a meeting tonight… You in?"

"Am I in what? …OH, you mean do I want to come tonight! Sí, I'd love to!" Feliciano suddenly pouted slightly. "But I have to ask Lovino first." He hurriedly unzipped his backpack, digging around in it for his cellular phone. He pulled it out and began to dial his brother's number… only to have his ringtone start up and the words "INCOMING CALL: Lovi~" appear on the screen. Giggling at the picture he had set for Lovino's contact photo (it had been taken while the older Italian was asleep), Feliciano answered the call.

"It's _so funny _that you'd decide to call right now, 'cause I was just about-"

"Yeah that's nice. These bastards at the hospital put me on the late shift, so I won't be home until at least 1 in the morning," Lovino interrupted, his tone dripping with bitterness. "Don't do anything stupid while you're alone."

"Ve, I won't be, though! Alfred invited me over to his house tonight!"

"Huh? That American bastard?" Lovino spoke so loudly that Alfred heard him and raised an eyebrow in slight offense. Feliciano, on the other hand, remained oblivious.

"Aw, Lovi, that isn't nice! So can I go?"

"Sure, whatever, I don't give a damn as long as you get your little ass home and don't end up dead somewhere."

Feliciano literally squealed with joy, having only heard "sure." "Yay, grazie! You're the best big brother on the PLANET!"

"Don't say mushy shit like that," Lovino grumbled. Without saying anything else, he slammed his phone shut, leaving Feliciano to chatter at the dial tone. It took a moment for him to realize Lovino was no longer on the other line, but when he did, he spun around to grin beamishly at Alfred. "Ve, I'll be there!"

"Your bro isn't that quiet, man. I heard," Alfred responded with a chuckle. "Well, I'ma get going. See ya later, Feli!" Ruffling the Italian's hair (and receiving a slight squeak when his fingers brushed over the curl), he trotted off to catch up with his posse.

And so, Feliciano found himself skipping up the steps of Alfred F. Jones's front porch. Hs usual huge smile was even brighter than usual, his heart fluttering with eagerness to be joining a group with such a beneficial cause…

His giddiness crashed down almost painfully the moment he walked in the door.

He must be in the wrong place. That's all that would make sense. After all, this was obviously a crazy high school party, not a famine-relief group. The lighting was down low, music was blaring, furniture was askew, tables were lined with snacks and countless drinks, plus at least 50 teens were packed in the first few rooms. For a moment, Feliciano watched a boy spin an empty beer bottle lying on the floor between a circle of people. Once it stopped spinning, the neck pointed toward a half-dressed girl; to Feliciano's confusion, the boy that had spun the bottle immediately grabbed the girl by the face and started kissing her hungrily.

_Please _let him be in the wrong place.

"Heeeey, Feli!" Well, never mind that. Alfred, his glasses slipping dangerously close to the tip of his nose, pushed his way through the crowd and wrapped his arm around Feliciano's shoulders.

"I thought we were stopping world hunger…!" Feliciano remarked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. Alfred snickered, alcohol stinking on his breath.

"Yeah, we're not. Mattie tried to make the whole thing go in that direction, but hello, that shit is _lame. _So we party every 'meeting' and put on our college apps that we spend them savin' starving people!" he explained, his mouth closer to Feliciano's ear than necessary. Tears started welling up in the Italian's eyes. The music was so loud and American-sounding, not to mention it didn't look like wine was amongst the liquor available…

Alfred giggled as Feliciano shifted uncomfortably. His arm snaked around Feliciano's thin waist. "Y'know… You look kinda like a chick," Alfred whispered seductively. His lips pecked Feli's neck; with a horrified gasp, Feliciano shoved Alfred off of him and retreated farther into the house.

He should have left. He _wanted _to leave. Yes, he could be the life of a party when he wanted to, but something told Feliciano that this wasn't the kind he was capable of having a good time during. Alfred was his ride home, though (Antonio, who was really taking a liking to the Vargas brothers, had dropped him off on his way to work), and it didn't seem as if he'd be sober for a while. So, in the meantime, he decided to wander around the American's house.

In a few ways, the design of Alfred's house was a lot like Feliciano's. Well, it seemed that way from the hall, at least: every time he ventured over to a closed door, a pleasurable moaning or gasping sound of some sort could be heard coming from inside, with the exception of one bedroom in which Matthew was sobbing quietly into his pillow. When Feliciano finally came across a room that seemed silent, he twisted the doorknob and flung the door open (his airheaded curiosity left him slightly shameless).

The bedroom was not empty as Feliciano had anticipated. Curled up at the foot of the queen sized bed was a strange looking teenager, looking to be about 19. His hair was a strange shade of blonde that looked almost literally silver or gray; he wore one black army boot, his left foot in only a sock; his skin was abnormally pale; the cross necklace around his neck was nearly falling off; when his eyes fluttered open, Feliciano saw that they were red like an albino rabbit's.

"Um… Ciao…!" Feliciano whispered with wide eyes.

"….Hallo," muttered the stranger, his eyelids drooping closed again. Feliciano bit his lip. It was obvious that this stranger was very uncomfortable… He was also shivering nonstop. Maybe he was cold? Just in case, Feliciano looked around the room and selected a blanket that was thrown over a lamp in the corner. Carefully, he draped it over the other boy.

"Are you okay, mister?" Feliciano asked with sincere concern. The stranger's pale fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

"Ja, I'm… fine…" He sat up dizzily with a slight _oof _sound. A half-hearted grin appeared on his face, the blanket now wrapped tightly around him. "I'm too awesome to be _un_fine. Stupid American beer was just so not awesome that….. That…" The blanket fell to the floor, and the German-accented boy was on his feet quicker than you would think someone in his state was capable of. He dashed into the bathroom attached to the bedroom, slammed the door behind him, and from the unpleasant noises Feliciano heard, vomited quite violently.

Feliciano waited awkwardly, his own stomach churning at the disgusting sounds coming from the bathroom. He eventually decided it was too much for his ears to take and he slipped back out into the hall. Maybe it would have been better if he stayed with the odd sick boy, though, because a certain blue-eyed, glasses-wearing American was the first person he ran into.

"Yo, Feli… You're like, so damn _attractive _all o' a sudden," Alfred slurred, practically tripping over his own feet on his way over to Feliciano. The Italian boy instinctively crinkled his nose when Alfred got close. The smell of wine, he could endure- enjoy, even. The smell of beer? Not so much.

"You seem really drunk, Alfred," he stated, taking a half step back. That slight movement did nothing to prevent Alfred from leaning into Feliciano and caressing his cheeks with both hands.

"I'm _so _horny right now," Alfred murmured, starting to nibble on Feliciano's ear.

"ALFRED! Get away from me!" Feliciano shrieked in horror, using all of his might to feebly push Alfred away from him. The second he was free, he retreated down the stairs as quickly as possible.

Now here he was, wandering down Alfred F. Jones's street with no means of getting home.

Maybe Lovino would come pick him up if he explained what happened… No, he wouldn't leave work for his brother. Not to mention he'd certainly lecture him about his stupidity again… Antonio would be more than eager to take him home, surely, but he was currently on an important call. At this rate, Alfred wouldn't be sober until the following afternoon, so that left one option: walking the 10 miles back to his house.

Feliciano had barely made it half a mile when his feet began to ache. The distant boom of thunder and thick gray clouds rolling in overhead signaled that rain was coming soon. An increasing feeling of loneliness was beginning to weigh down on Feliciano's shoulders…

Almost as if on cue, the street was suddenly lit up by a pair of headlights. A car had just turned onto the otherwise empty street and was driving in Feliciano's direction, perhaps slower than was necessary. Its design resembled the same vehicle Mr. von Bock drove, but more beat up. The driver slowed down even more when they got closer to Feliciano; what if they were one of those pedophiles that Lovino warned him about? Although it was his instinct to run away, Feliciano found himself frozen.

Instead of looking up when the car rolled to a halt right beside him, Feliciano became even more still. Whether his heart had stopped or was beating so hard that he couldn't feel it, he didn't know. "…Do you need a ride?" That made Feliciano's gaze shoot up from the ground. There was no way an old pedophile could have a voice that high… He leisurely turned to look at the driver, only to find they couldn't be much older than Lovino. Their hair was similar in color to the albino boy's from Alfred's party, but his eyes were purple.

Feliciano gasped under his breath.

"No, no, grazie… My house is just down here," Feliciano spluttered. The man behind the wheel just kept staring at him, his expression unreadable.

"_Net, _you don't. You live next door to me… Feliciano."

It took every ounce of Feliciano's willpower not to scream. Since he attended a school where gossip was a big thing, it didn't take him very long to learn that he did in fact have a neighbor. What was his first name again…? "O-oh, well, I'm just waiting for my fratello, you see…!"

The Braginski boy nodded slowly, rolling his window back up and starting to drive away at an extremely sluggish speed. Feliciano decided it would be safest to start walking once the car turned around the next corner… A light drizzle began falling; perhaps he should start walking now. The sprinkle of rain increased to a downpour in mere seconds; forget waiting for the creepy neighbor to be gone, Feliciano bolted toward his car. Of course, he was allowed inside.

They road in silence for about a minute until Feliciano decided he couldn't stand the lack of noise. "You're Ivan Braginski. Your sorella is dead."

Talk about being straightforward.

"…Da. She is. And this is her car…" Feliciano nodded, simply stealing a few glances at the Russian during the inevitable return of an awkward silence. It took a moment, but he finally picked up on the uneasiness in Ivan's tone.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't a very happy thing to say," he acknowledged, bringing his eyebrows together in a pout. Ivan just shook his head.

"Don't apologize. You were just saying what was on your mind."

More silence.

Feliciano's eyes eventually landed on a stack of cases lined up on the dashboard. "Ve, what music do you have?" the oblivious Italian asked rhetorically, picking up about half of the stack. He couldn't help but giggle. "Cassette tapes? You don't like new music, do you?"

Ivan shook his head slightly, his eyes drifting over to Feliciano for just a moment. "Not really… I do listen to you play though. You're very good."

Feliciano drew in a slight gasp. "You can hear me from your house…?"

And now a nod from Ivan. "Your voice and guitar carry quite far…"

"Hey, that rhymed," Feliciano remarked with a giggle.

A small smile seeped onto Ivan's previously expressionless face. "Da."

The old fashioned car pulled into Feliciano's driveway quicker than expected. By that time, the rain had let up quite a bit. "Well, grazie for driving me," Feliciano exclaimed, opening the door. Ivan just nodded, smiling softly up at him. Feliciano grinned back, closing his door and trotting up his porch steps. Ivan stayed put to make sure he got inside safely; but Feliciano didn't hear the car pull away, even when he was in the house with the door closed behind him…

Smile faltering, Feliciano glanced over his shoulder out the window to see that Ivan was still there, staring intently up and him. He turned all the way around and the car was gone. Feliciano dug his knuckles into his eyes, shaking his head. "I need to sleep…."

* * *

**_A/N_**

_America x Italy lolwut? GOD it pained me to write that. I don't support Feli with anyone but Ludwig! ;~; _

_I feel like that scene with Ivan wasn't as extensive as it needed to be... It was even blander when I first wrote it, though._

_Anyway, please review, and thanks for any & all feedback! It's MUCH appreciated. *insert heart here*_


	4. Chapter 4

3:30 AM. The rest of the world- or at least the rest of the neighborhood- was still asleep; Ivan Braginski, on the other hand, had been up for quite a while. Except for a minuscule, unexplainable smile, his expression was completely blank as the Russian teen kneeled in front of the open refrigerator. There wasn't much on the shelves- just a few condiments, leftovers, and bottles of vodka- so it took no time for him to locate the container of cabbage soup he was looking for. He set it on the counter beside an empty bowl and stood up straight.

It was breakfast time. But _she _probably didn't know that.

The path Ivan navigated would seem exquisite to a stranger, though it had become a habit for him. Through the kitchen, down the hall, past the bathroom, through the door leading to the basement, down the stairs, _behind _the stairs, through the doorway to the laundry room. Smiling absently, pointlessly, as he always did, Ivan set the tray that carried the bowl of soup on the washing machine. Set on the floor in front of it was a square-shaped, stained and rather homely rug, but Ivan knew it was more than that. He kneeled down and dragged at the carpet until it completely revealed a pair of large wooden doors in the floor. He yanked one half open, retrieved the tray from the washing machine, and continued down the short flight of concrete stairs.

This was the part that got his heart pounding, not necessarily in a good way.

Ivan positioned the tray in one arm so that one edge was pressed against the crook of his elbow and the other had his fingers curled around it. Since he was so tall, he barely had to reach up with his free hand in order to reach the key hidden atop the doorframe. His constant smile faltered slightly as he held his breath. He inserted the key into the lock, jiggled and twisted it until it clicked, and slowly turned the doorknob. "I brought-" Ivan was interrupted by a flailing figure of rags and scraggly blonde hair, screaming and clawing at him.

This was all simply part of routine.

The Russian boy's height came in handy in many situations, including this one. He managed to reach sideways to rest the tray on an ill-kept bed off in the corner, using his free hand to hold the fuming girl at bay. He then clamped a large hand over her mouth, not thinking much of the fact that she began to snap at the skin of his palm.

"Look, I brought you breakfast. Yummy soup, da?" Ivan murmured once the girl had reduced herself to angry twitches. He gently led her toward the bed, only to have her abruptly lash out and send the bowl crashing to the ground. Ivan was so used to this reaction that he barely blinked.

The girl took a half step back and stepped on a piece of the broken ceramic, shrieking furiously at the sharp pain. She stared Ivan straight in the face, piercing him with distinct purple-blue eyes as if it was his fault the bowl had broken. Ivan offered a tiny, _tiny _smile. "You can't keep doing this. You know you have to eat, Natalya."

A renewed mixture of panic , rage, and the slightest bit of agony suddenly exploded across the girl's features. _"But my name is-"_

"Shhh, Little Sister." And that's when Ivan slid a syringe out of the pocket of his dark jeans, stabbing the needle right into a vein on the girl's arm. The drug immediately took its effect and drowsiness overwhelmed the girl's system. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her limp body collapsed sideways onto the bed, but not before a bluish-purple contact slid unnoticed out of her left eye.

_Knock knock knock. _Ivan froze at his kitchen table, his purple eyes shooting away from the screen of his laptop. He was unlike the other teens his age in countless reasons, and one of them was that the _last _thing he ever expected was someone visiting his house, even on a weekend. Sliding to his feet with more grace than you'd expect from someone of his size, he moved the blinds of the window beside the door to cautiously peer outside. Standing on his porch, smiling brightly and rocking back and forth on his feet, was the Italian boy from next door. Feliciano Vargas…

"Da…?" Although Ivan was skeptical of Feliciano's presence, he couldn't remove the ghost of a smile that almost constantly seemed to haunt his features.

"Ciao, Ivan! Can I come in?" Without waiting for an answer, Feliciano practically skipped inside. Ivan blinked but didn't say anything. He closed the door and relocked it. "Ve, is this what I think it is?!" Feliciano had been staring around the room with an airy smile, until his amber eyes landed on Ivan's computer screen. He scrambled over to it, his grin growing even further. His suspicions had been correct: open on Ivan's Internet Explorer was the YouTube channel, ~pizzaxpastaxlover~. "You listen to my music?"

"I looked you up," Ivan indicated, simply not seeing anything wrong with the statement. Fortunately, Feliciano was too oblivious to be struck by it at all and simply continued to poke around the room. Ivan never questioned him; maybe this was normal behavior for new neighbors.

Feliciano's mouth suddenly formed a small "o," creating an expression that showed he had remembered something. From the canvas bag he had slung over his shoulder, he retrieved a see-through CD case containing a shiny silver disc. It was blank, except for three words written in black Sharpie in an almost childish handwriting: "Music for Ivan." Grinning beamishly as ever, Felicano held it out to the Russian.

For a moment, Ivan just stared at the outstretched case. Was this a… gift? He saw on TV and read in books about people getting "presents" for thing like birthdays and holidays, but he couldn't recall ever receiving anything like that. Maybe in a distant memory that was now long forgotten, erased from his memory to spare him the pain….

Ivan took the CD from Feliciano. His large hand seemed to swallow up the Italian's much daintier one. "…What is this?" Ivan asked.

"A present! I felt bad that you only had old music to listen to, so I downloaded a bunch of Russian music to this CD for you!" Feliciano explained brightly, practically bouncing up and down where he stood.

"…Okay. _Spasibo," _Ivan stated. He hoped that thanking Feliciano was what he was supposed to do….

"So can I look around your house, Ivan? It looks so similar to mine from the outside, I wanna know what it's like from the inside!" Ivan blinked slowly. Had he really gone so long withdrawn from society that he hadn't realized how headstrong people are? Perhaps it was just this one particular boy, but still….

He answered without thinking it through very well. "Da, you may." The Italian boy's features lit up even further, and he skipped off to poke his head around every corner.

It then struck Ivan that Feliciano might have the intention of exploring the _entire _house. He didn't strike Ivan as the observant type, but his curiosity was certainly shamelessly high. So, Ivan decided he'd follow the boy around, keeping a good distance between them so that it just seemed like he happened to be drifting about. He would play a game of Hot and Cold with himself. If Feliciano was far from the basement door, Ivan would tell himself he was cold: his favorite temperature. Upstairs would be freezing, just how he liked it. However, if Feliciano was so much as on the same floor as the basement door, he would be unpleasantly warm. If he wandered down that hall, he would be hot. Ivan didn't like heat; he'd then have to toss Feliciano out of his house.

And that's exactly what he essentially ended up doing. Because Feliciano did not end up hot; he was on _fire._

Feliciano had ventured through a majority of the house, even popping into a few of the empty bedrooms. He realized once he had skipped back downstairs that he had neglected to check down one hall; a hall he assumed to be identical to the one in his own house. He'd just steal a peek of the basement, then head on home to make some pasta…

Red flags shot up in Ivan's head the moment Feliciano turned the corner. His muscles tensed, but he controlled himself; maybe he was just looking for the bathroom… No: the boy's slightly tanned hand was turning the doorknob to the basement.

Ivan was behind him quicker than you'd think was physically possible, his massive hand on Feliciano's scrawny shoulder. "You should go home," he insisted quietly, turning Feliciano to face him. He pouted slightly, but his smile was back in a flash.

"Oh, okay. Well I like your house! It could be fixed up, but it's nice. I hope you like your CD!" he babbled, already heading toward the door. Good.

"Ivan?" Feliciano paused in the doorway, glancing over at the much taller boy. "I think we should be friends."

Friends…? Ivan stared at him, absolutely shocked. He hadn't had a friend since- well. It had been a long time since he had a friend. "…Da, we should."

As long as he never, _ever _found out the truth about _her._

* * *

_~Author's Note~_

_God I've been neglecting this story... I've got so many other stories that are higher on my priorities, plus it's been a long time since I've seen _House at the End of the Street _so my memory on how it went is getting blurry. Fortunately I was prepared for that and wrote out a vague outline of how the story's gonna go... it'll probably drift farther and farther away from the actual movie's plot, but hey, I doubt most of you have actually seen it anyway. XD_


End file.
